Page 102 of All the Forbidden Things

I take her chin between my thumb and index finger, lifting it until her eyes once again meet mine. Emotion spills from them as she blinks slowly, tears still clinging to her dark lashes.

“Tell me you know,” I whisper against her ear.

I step back to watch her reaction. Her eyes are closed, her long damp lashes fan out across her cheeks, and I’m hyper-aware of the fact that I’m holding my baby girl against me as my dick grows hard for this woman.

“I thought I did, but now I’m not sure,” she says very quietly.

I nod. “I’m gonna feed, Layla. Why don’t you go and splash your face with cold water because, when I’m done, I’m gonna show you exactly how I feel, and I’m telling you right now, there’ll not be a single shred of doubt left in that beautiful mind or body of yours.”

She nods, and I step away before she slides off the stool.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she tells me from over her shoulder.

“You do that. Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

I stare at her arse as she moves to her bedroom, and I don’t feel even a little bit bad about it.

“Sorry, bug,” I tell Layla as I hold her out in front of me. She throws her head about and gives an angry cry resembling a lion cub’s tiny roar, and I laugh at the attitude she’s already attempting to give me. “Fuck me, that was intense,” I say to the room as I pull the bottle from the jug of hot water and go back to the sofa. I get Layla fed, her nappy changed, give her a once over with a couple of baby wipes, and then into a clean babygro.

Once again propping her in the corner of the sofa surrounded by pillows, I stack the parts of the cot, lying on the floor, against the wall, and take the plastic off the new mattress and lay it down flat. Layla is having one of her wide awake sessions, so I spend the time chatting to her about how I need her to be a good girl tonight while daddy sorts his shit out with Billie.

When I look up, the woman herself is leaning against the doorframe that leads to her bedroom. I lay Layla down on the mattress and put her blankets over her.

“You need a coffee?” I ask, taking in her pink Penelope Pitstop flannel pyjama bottoms and the grey slash-necked sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder.

She has no bra on underneath.

She. Has. No. Fucking. Bra. On.

Suddenly, I’m twelve again, fighting a boner and the urge to look at her tits. I lose and stare right at them. Billie has great tits.

I need to stop thinking about Billie’s tits.

“I’ve no pods left. There are only six in a box. We drank the ones I brought over from yours when your mum was here Thursday, and I’m not drinking that instant shit.”

“Tea then?” She shakes her head but remains in the doorway.

“I’m good.” Her voice sounds raspier than normal, probably because of her tears. I kinda like it.

“Come over here.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you close, I’ve missed you . . . and we need to talk.”

I watch her throat move as she licks her lips and swallows.

“I won’t bite . . . much,” I tell her and wink.

Her shoulders rise up to her ears as she slides her hands into the pockets of her PJ’s and moves towards me. On her feet, she wears pink-and-grey fluffy socks, and for some reason, they make me smile.

“Your hair looks nice,” I tell her as she tucks herself into the corner of the sofa opposite of me.

“I thought you were gonna come over last night or let me know you were home so I could come here.”

“Yeah, well, I heard some things that made me not wanna bother.” She’s apparently sobered up enough not to slur her words, but enough alcohol remains in her system to bolster her bravado. “When I was a kid, what did you think of me?”

“What?” I’m confused by her question.